A pup came up to me after de game tonight. He ask how come I wear dis cross round mah neck when ah’m callin’ da voodoo to put a curse on de hoop.

Ah told him ain’t no wrong between de two. De Good Lord made de gris-gris as much as He made me. And if de gris-gris had a neck, it’d wear a cross, too.

Pup said only a sinner would say dat. Said de gris-gris was evil, and God don’t make nuttin wicked in de world.



I know better.

I know God made de gris-gris. He show me every day.

Dis life He gave me is a blessin’. Ain’t no fox in Acadia never had it dis good. Not since dem wolves sent mah ancestors down de river. Not since France sold de land like dey was nuttin but a nuisance. In all dem years of scrapin’ by in de bayou, ain’t no swamp fox could have dreamed one of dere own would have everyding I got.

Riches ah can barely count. Fame all over de land. Pups lookin’ up like I was someding to be. And all from playin a game dat didn’t even exist way back den.

And dat’s why I owe Him thanks. Prayers ain’t enough. It’s why ah trew all dem parties, made sure ah knew all mah teammates, patted backs after every loss. Reminded all of dem, we playin’ wid de best in de world, we playin’ in de FBA, where a tousand losses means you’re still a winner.


Except for one loss.

So easy to blame de devil. Say he de one dat waved all dat money in front of mah nose, tempted me away from de city ah called home. Maybe ah deserved it. After all dem games, all dem trophies, came easy to tell myself ah deserved a ring. And dis town up North promised dey could give it.

Sure, it broke hearts when ah left. But time heals de wounds. Dey forget about me, find anoter star, someone else to cheer on. Maybe dis last year not go so good for dem, but dey’ll be back. Dey’ll be de team ah told dem every day dey were. It’s what ah tell mahself every time I look at dat jersey I keep hidden in mah locker.

And de ding is, de voices do quiet down. Dey do stop talkin’. Eventually all dem hearts mend.


Except for one.

De one dat try so hard to blame de devil. Want so bad to justify what’s been done. Dat now whenever he tanks God for dis life he got, also cries out to him for forgiveness.

‘Cause no matter how much ah spin dis in mah head, He tell me what ah already know. I made dis. Ain’t no one else’s fault. Can’t blame no devil. Only a sinner would say dat.



And if dat ain’t a gris-gris, ain’t nothin’ is.

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A commission drawn by  pac I got as a birthday gift for  bremen, who also designed the Biloxi Voodoo jersey.

Seemed fitting to post it today, given the Bangor Tides season just ended.